The Good Soilder
by Akemo
Summary: Sephiroth is ressurected, only he has no memories of who he is. And my, has the world changed in all that time... (Based LOOSELY of the game.)


Part 1: Second Chance

  
  
He could smell rain. Yet, there wasn't a single cloud in the sky that he could see. Blue stretched as far as the eye could reach, shinning with the brilliance of a summer sun. He rested on a rock upon a cliff that overlooked the sea below, with the forest at his back. The sound of the water crashing upon the rocks seemed a lullaby to his ears, the constant pounding of chaos that resembled his own tattered thoughts since his recent "awakening". The legendary Mesamune rested on the ground in a small sheath, his trench coat, and layers of armor upon the ground in a pile next to him, leaving him in his pants with bare feet and soaking wet silver hair. His chest was shining from his recent swim, and his greenish-blue eyes were calm for once.   


He reached up to rub his fingers along the scar across his chest, and various other tiny small stitches that he had from recent operations. He could remember a few things – seeing the spiky blonde man, dying. But why, he couldn't remember. He could barely remember his name anymore. But it's not like he was going to walk around with "HI! My name is: Sephiroth" written on his hand to remind him. He would just keep contentiously moving, keeping his head busy so he wouldn't have time to sit and think like this. The scientist who helped him, who found him explained to him that he was dead when they found him, but they brought him back with the same energy that they had found lying dormant near him – Mako. He couldn't remember what that was – but he knew it was deadly important. In fact, he could barely remember how to use a sword. They gave him what information they could on his recorded life, but so much was missed; unrecorded.   


Clenching his fist and watching his muscles move, he closed his eyes and sighed. He should be dead, shouldn't he? He wouldn't say that it was peaceful before, but it wasn't horrid either. It was as if he were in the mixture of both, surrounded by – surrounded by what? He didn't want to loose that beautiful feeling but he couldn't hold onto it. He opened his eyes again, and gathered his items. He wasn't going to hold on for much longer so the scientists could continue to poke and prod him. They had helped him so far, but would they continue to be his friend? He doubted it. Scientists worked only for their progress, and if his health hindered it, they wouldn't hesitate to throw him away again. Sephiroth honestly couldn't say that he wouldn't welcome death right now, but he had a growing feeling that he had some kind of purpose on this planet this time.  
  


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His movements were easeful and graceful to say the least. The weight of the sword or the armor seemed like feathers to him, though his body often tired from the hike uphill. He hadn't used his entire body so it wasn't as if he were up to his usual stamina. The path was barren to say the least, and not exciting at all to the eye or to the idle mind. But his mind was far from idle, going through what he could try and remember without giving himself a headache worse then the one building at the base of his skull. He couldn't remember much of the spiky haired man with the blonde hair, but he knew somewhere in the pit of his stomach he had to find him. The man probably wouldn't be glad to see him, but he had to find out who he was. More then the scientists would have to give to him.   
The first thing he saw in his sights was a large dump it would seem. How could this be a town? Some gruff looking men stood outside with what seemed spears, dressed in uniforms. They seemed familiar, and yet he knew that he had not seen them before. Their expressions seemed to speak to him million more then the thoughts that filled his head. He paused in his footing and closed his eyes again briefly, hands closing at his sides. A burning was beginning at the base of his gut, working slowly upwards. A sort of blood thirst that was so natural seeming that it made him want to loose the sandwich he had eaten earlier. He threw his mind into a black oblivion at an almost new instinct, and when he returned and opened his eyes, he caught the end of what one guard was saying to the other.  
  
"…Is another clone."  
  
He didn't understand what they meant, but he kept moving forward trying to move past them before a large spear nearly electrocuted him. Startled, he stepped back two or three steps as he watched the men, blinking so the glow to his eyes -- which he had no idea was there – dimmed. The guard laughed, and used the blunt of the weapon to shove Sephiroth back a few steps until he was at least a foot or two in distance to them. Watching the men silently for a few seconds, he just stood there, staring blankly at them. The breeze came up, seemingly out of the dead city and stirred through his hair as the men waited, seemingly, for his return move. They were itching for a fight.  
  
"What is it boy? Too stupid to realize what you are? NO clones allowed. Read the sign there."  
  
The other guard who had kept silent snickered, and pointed with his spear, which cracked with energy at a half beaten down sign that had basically repeated what the guard said. No Clones Allowed. He didn't understand. Clone? And he looked like one? Surely they were misunderstanding. He stepped up again, trying to get through the people but again he was met with a sharp jolt. Before he even knew what he was doing his sword was out, and the man's hand was swiftly tumbling to the ground with his staff still gripped in the fingers. The surge of power that ran through him at the sight of blood made him grin as he turned those glowing eyes up at the shocked and paralyzed solider. With a swift movement of the blade again – and a soft thud – the man's head was joined with his hand, soon followed by his body to the ground.   


That was all Tifa saw as she stepped from the bar, running her hands through her hair after a rough night. A silvery haired man that was unmistakable, and the death of one man soon followed by the other before the killer disappeared into the clouds of buildings. He was back.


End file.
